Today, it's my birthday.

I am thirty-six years old today...not really a problem. Had a great Christmas, thank you, thank you for asking. Lungs still burning like crazy...kind of thinking this must be grief, which I'm not all that good at. I think it ultimately makes me angry.

Not having control over everything, like I used to. Thought of that today during an imaginary conversation with my doctor, who I'll see at 10:30 am tomorrow, and decline any offered medication. Doctors like to solve everything with drugs, and I'll never be that kind of patient. Just can't.

So, it hurts. And may or may not stop, as far as I can see. In my imagination, I also told him that I kind of screwed myself over by letting go of my peace, in exchange for a possible miracle. Still trying to talk myself into the wisdom of that. Healers said I had the same affliction...like to control things too much, it's God's will we let go.

I'll try. I was feeling SO peaceful though, accepting Cooper's death before it even happened, and celebrating the miracle of the lessons he'd impart. Now, I'm left with NO CLUE of the outcome...I mean, I KNOW the outcome. It's just harder to accept with God willing my way.

Re-entering heaven

It's a place on earth, you know. Just so happens we're one or two, or a vague handful of days away from the Solstice. Would never be the equinox, that's certain. At least. I'm recovering remarkably well, after having had my soul ripped out through my gut, and sewed on quite crookedly. Hmm.

I'll try my best to enjoy it, since I AM the sinner, afterall. Here's the church where I found out Jesus was running through the pews of the sanctuary on the night I attended the healing room. Why the hell not, right?



Maybe more about my actual trip, if I don't flee to the cabin by sacred Tuesday. Christmas break, you know, may the joy of the season be mine.

x + y = y - x ?

I love when the day ends, and the mistakes you've publicly made flash through yer mind. Geometry ain't algebra, and if I confuse the Playboy trio with the K-dash sisters again, please correct me. It's Kendra with the ghetto background, the rise to stardom, and the cute little half-and-half (and the true love) that I was meaning.

I get so confused when women keep prancing around on television in lingerie, as if eye candy was the best VH-1 could do. Now look, mixing up channels, intentionally. It's what occurs in my psyche when I hold things back to please everybody. I shouldn't do that anymore, repeatedly.

So, this is what I meant to write a week-and-a-half ago, but couldn't. Don't know who I'd fear offending with the truth that I was thinking.

Getting organized, electronically

Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four

Day Five

...and counting.

Little Cooper

Sorry, when I get nervous I start speaking Spanish. That had nothing to do with the prayer, and now look, I'm without a relevant title. Church is going to be a huge part of this luxurious-laptop vacation, and this evening I was prayed over by the first of many zealots.

What stood out in this particular prayer, was the plea for my doctor's salvation. Made me question for a moment my righteous "licensed professionals with ethics" stance. MY curses and generational soul ties need to be healed by the blood of Jesus, and HIS soul must be saved in order for a miracle to advance?

I don't think God would go through all this work for me to face death, and then leave the outcome to depend on my doctor's life choices, be they good or bad. I'd think developing a fear of tunnels from having served in Vietnam, makes him a sensitive person with decent values...AND, he's a skilled genius at practicing medicine.

Plus, is it really such a sin for me to believe that I'll have a better grasp of the whole of life, a keener sharper sense...if I see for myself the extreme opposite of a cooperative and functioning life force? With gratitude to my son for sacrificing his own life, so his determined and ambitious mother can become enlightened through his generous act.

Prayer number one

I've got to keep track of these, if God's going to supernaturally heal my baby. It's a conflict though, now that I've reached acceptance, and can see how it serves my life's mission just as well to go through this tremendous loss. Seeing death so up close, and nothing hits closer to home than your very own child's last breaths.

Interesting story inserted here, and it has to do with murder. Think of it this way friends...please, if you don't mind. It's the cord itself that provides the oxygen (i.e. chance at life) to my little baby Cooper. So what, I'm going to have my husband be the one, to end it all? Too graphic...too scary? Okay good, I'll continue.

So, I told my doctor my concern at this point was only the delivery. And uh, cutting the cord, because um, you know, that would be the ending? It will be emotional and tragic, you're right. I'll cut the cord. Er, wait...

let's just wait for the natural release of the placenta. It will turn one minute into at least fifteen, so that makes me less sad. Just enough time to make official eye contact, show Cooper what it's going to feel like to be loved, and to trust. If I'm lucky, I'll get to attach him to my breast.

Sorry, that last part was REALLY graphic.

Non-catholics and MOPS

My "strong in her faith" friend called today, turns out she wasn't Catholic. I didn't confess it right away, because I figured, what's the point? She's a person, and she took the time to meet with me, why bring political influence into it anyway?

The fact that she called again, when I didn't bother to put the effort forth to do the same...heavenly. I'm going to get myself into one of those situations I tend to avoid, I'm going to go against my natural inclination and join her MOPS group. She's the leader.

Right away I felt trouble, when I had to explain to her, myself, and my husband...that my three-year-old might not be as willing as the rest to be just inserted into convenient daycare (we're rebellious like that). I mean, I could've lied to my child as most mothers do and told Maddie it would be fun. By age three, they fall for ANYTHING, even the suggestion that it's her job to "just go", way more exciting than Mommy-time and grown-up lunch.

I tend not to lie to my children, or withhold. My experience shows that if you cater to their every need and insecurity, they actually grow up STRONGER, they trust people are telling the truth, or notice it more readily when they actually don't. A life skill I figured they'd enjoy.

So, next week I begin my re-integration into "yes, I'm a grown-up like you" society. Not looking forward to it, but probably beneficial in someway.

Day and night

Keeping your child from dying of diabetes is a full-time, round-the-clock job. Can't wake up a single morning and luxuriously head down to an impromptu breakfast without checking that number. Usually it's in range, and that morning shot, and the shots all day long, they don't compete so much with the end-of-the-day (no more shots!) unfairness called diabetes.

It's the worst way to end a day filled with shots, nothing comforting about it.

However, there's something worse than this inconvenient cycle that may end in death, but usually doesn't through a parent's loving care. And that, is the modern predilection of caring for brain injured veterans during and after they leave the hospital-like sanctuaries. Really, there's no such thing as sanctuary when you're a brain injured veteran, just trying to make it rosier to keep you interested.

I've worked with head injured people in my lifetime, I have. An overnight shift intended to earn psychology credits, that left me more gawking at the serious situations of others, than anything close to compassionate. Grown men laying on the floor, well on mats, acting like infants as they regained what nature might have left, if they don't give up, become engulfed by rage, or whatever it is that's going on in their heads.

Prairie Public last night (it's like our local PBS), they featured two grown, handsome, strong men...completely debilitated down to plain nothingness. You should've seen the pre-brain injury pictures of these powerful, capable men. Could've run an entire banking system, had someone enough sense to redirect their paths. Instead, they became heroes.

Brain injured people move slowly. When you see the light in their eyes, if a loved one comes by, especially a wife whose life dreams never actually considered this possible change in her plans. Thrilled to the bone for that connection, increases effortful movement in therapy, a small speck of hope. I can't even imagine the struggle, and the thoughts that cross the minds of these brain injured veterans.

Especially afterwards, when they head back home for their care. It's not just round-the-clock prevention of dying, but also atrophy, and deterioration of every possible sort, the media rarely fills you in on that. Would probably cause too much naturally-rising inborn protest, so in that way I understand.

But, I read on the front page of our Herald today, while waiting to meet with the compassionate nurse who doesn't mind facing death, actually enjoys it. Sixty-nine soldiers from our town, wait, are the National Guard soldiers, can't remember what's been said. They'll head to Fort Hood for a month, and then off to Iraq and Afghanistan.

God only knows what they'll face when they come back.

Turns out we have a yin leader

Heard it from the most respected international scholar on the news (can't say which one). I'm still trying to sort the compliment from the purposeful absence of Chinese disclosure. Obviously I understand why a "weak American leader" is actually praise, but not in English. Why did he hold back the truth?

I'd say Obama leans more towards the ridiculous myself, if not overly bold. Love how he stands before a bunch of set-in-their-ways Communists, and politely suggests freedom be allowed. Hilarious! But obviously more yang than not strong.

Chinks, get with the program.

Giving Birth to Dead Fetuses

I couldn't be more grateful to be carrying a baby to term that will die within minutes of being born. I'm in no way being sarcastic, or relying on my ability to adapt to just about any situation, short of torture...it is the truth.

A large part of my appreciation goes to the tremendously committed efforts of activists, known as the Right to Lifers. I give them my thanks for the precious two-and-a-half months I'll have left, feeling my baby's kicks, squirms, and well-oxygenated wiggles.

From the literature I've read on bereavement by parents, who've lost children in all stages of pregnancy, by both choice and nature's power, I'm walking the correct road. The one that will spare my soul, cause the least regret, and strengthen my character...these are my values.

Also, I'm concerned I'd have been too quick to decide for myself that "termination" or "pregnancy interruption" was the answer, had insurance agreed in my particular case, to help me over that $10,000 barrier. As is one of the dilemmas when you have to travel three states away, once past the 24 week limitation that I hadn't previously factored.

I've learned that this standard is a credible boundary kept intact by researchers and physicians whose specialty is to determine what's best for my female body, and for my fetus, my unborn child. I also personally believe it was God's design for my possibilities to be constrained by that timeline, so that I might see for my own self the valid points and positions defended by the Right to Lifers.

However as a mother to five children and one developing fetus, and as even the most righteous advocate of the most heart-rendering cause will admit, or finally tell you...until one walks in the shoes of the parent who must advocate for her own life, and the life of her own child, it is not the Right to Lifer's privilege to decide any other person's behavior.

"All men are created equal", as protected by the laws in America, and Freedom of Speech and persuasion is alive and well in this Republic, thanks be to God. Even the abortion clinics themselves welcome the hiring of encouraging Christian women who are quite influential in coaxing expectant mothers towards other options. I experienced, followed, and was blessed through that guidance myself, over ten years ago.

It's a wonderful thing to see beauty and potential in chaos, to feel more empowered than the parent who decides too briskly, or after much thought and prayer, that their child is somehow a monster, or unfit for survival by human standards. And, it's an unfortunate position to be in, for all women who must witness imperfection in God's design (please, allow doctors to illustrate, and anatomists to tell you).

A human being can persuade, shout, and even presume to know God's plan for our lives, or for the life of a fetus or a significantly malformed newborn. Our pastors can support, dissuade, or remain neutral with regards to our decisions,...and the free press can publish as many fact-based, or passion-inspired gifts, as any cause requires.

Federally-funded insurance is being offered to our citizens to protect and defend the health of our whole entire nation. It is not a tool to be wielded by unlicensed speculators of women's thinking, or an opportunity to limit without solid medical reasoning, the options available that provide complete and total healthcare.

The coverage is ethical and moral no matter what the procedure, so long as it is in line with the American Medical Association's standards for practitioners. Which are not dictated by insurance companies, faith-based influence, or the squeakiest wheel in the system...but instead, by educated and experienced physicians who operate in humankind's best interest.

At least that's my position, that my civil liberties will remain fiercely protected by our elected politicians. May our nation's conscience be well, and bi-partisan support be won, for all.

Back with less vengeance

Let's hope. It's only Sunday, tomorrow could be a whole new day of "don't mess with me" prose. You never know which stage of grief I'll be processing, or how relevant October's news will be, or which morning music videos they'll show. Nevertheless, the battle studies will go on, and on...and on, of course.

Until, um, world peace comes around. Which I'm not depending on, just noticing its progress with regards to my standards, that's all. Go team go.

In more personal news, and less worldly observations, the experts were honest and that's a relief. Inoperable, no surgeon would try to, better case scenario than most available, so. It's quite ironic the Christian perspectives that become obsolete through this very situation.

And the women, doctors, and babies who are abused and silenced by said ignorance, yo! Can't wait to be sane enough to take a bite out of that one ;-).

I'm mad about November, and December too.

It's when all the important music comes out, plus my wedding's anniversary, you know, the one I fashioned at Sundance? Back when Robert Redford wasn't so old. Every day he just gets older and older, like some others keep getting fatter and fatter.

You know how it is when the rush of the week caused you to write an unspectacular essay entitled "The Separation of Testicular Integrity and Breadcrumbs," yet you can barely drag yourself to the library to publish it?

Plus, you dared to lose your virginity in it, and knew then too, unpublishable. The following three were equally horrible, recopied on PAPER even, but then, too much to lose. Probably that 'N' word I used twice unabashedly, and then thought exactly twice about.

Oops, for thinking, and typing, then writing. Just be glad you don't have to read it on here.

This is all about Miley

Quit reading into it. Look how comfy the 'u' fits next to the q, adorable. Doesn't make queenship correct American behavior, however. It's why I've always been a fool for friendship, and a non-hater of Daddy Cyrus. Who needs to start singing more and attracting more fans.

You can never have too many fans when you're a Christian, because of all that free lobster. If lobster doesn't remain free for SOME people, the rest of us will get jacked somehow. Usually how it works.

Take the highway system for example, and all the tax dollars we effortfully pump into it. Okay, it's against our will, somebody else's decision, but STILL. We need our roads, and I said it over a year ago on HuffPo, with regards to something ridiculous the Republicans couldn't stop doing despite everybody's best interest.

And that interest could feed alot of mermaids, you know. Roads, roads, where was I? Ah yes, they're called "drug corridors" where I come from. Gangs actually own them, or they at least prove their currency through violence which is somewhat the same, and more frightening than Drew's mug, I can tell you that for sure.

Oh the initiations we must endure, gang-related or not. Somebody more mature should not only like that the best, that person should know when to call his "ho" a ho.

The next fork

A trip to meet with the experts, who will confirm yet again what I already know. I'm not sure I fit the typical criteria of a mother in my position, I want only the truth. I need to understand this force called life, even more now that I've pictured the walnut-sized organ in my mind, and men who decide instruments can rearrange just about anything, that invisible strength that draws us to try.

Or is it just a pump? A circuit in a cycle, none more important than the others, I just don't know. What's the difference between an old person whose organs are failing, when doctors admit, realize, or whatever, that living's not the hope. As compared to a newborn, willing to thrive on less oxygen for a while, and witnessing that "fight" that's just inborn.

It's the fight that scares me the most. My doctor said that no matter what the case, all life strives to stay alive. That's going to hurt the most. Can you picture me as well as I can, throwing up all through labor and delivery, typical birthing-style. Knowing the life that is traveling through me, squirming more loudly each and every day, will only survive for a while?

The worst pain I can imagine, followed by some sort of liberation I'm sure. I'll take them both.

Doubt is safer and wider

Like the plains. Sure, I once resided in an actual city, and dated a New Yorker with a REALLY BIG mouth. Just added to my life experience, and he lost me, never quite figured me out. Oh well.

I'm glad I didn't have to live my life beside that loser, pleasing his mother, and forgiving all the havoc he caused to my soul, or couldn't help. Because he's the one out there surgically removing cancerous growths right out of people's anuses, I inspired him to be a doctor, that's what I'm about.

Or so I keep telling myself. People can become what they want when they decide it, only makes it more clearly an insult when they don't. Be it an actual friend with standards that match mine, a concerned parent (but not the ass-kissing kind), or an elf.

Take the ex-boyfriend who couldn't choose me until he proved something to himself...didn't matter the timing, or the order, or the circumstances in the end. It was always only about respect. And he lost out.

Paint the town cyan

...it's the only color left. And with the refusal of the overly-white bred to even discuss sex slavery (for fear of offending the Princes, oh that). Might as well just keep living in the now and pretending that clean drinking water is a choice for everyone, isn't that right, fat cat?

Kanye, Kanye West. No clue how you'll ever, ever make your comeback. Not with the way your spine shivers at mere mention of reality, you know, fact? Look it up in the dictionary, I'm sure it's written in English. Hold on for a second while I waste my time to check.

Um yes, yes it is. Right under bitch slap. They've rearranged the entire order, and guess whose comfy at the bottom, your friend. So comfy, she didn't even realize that. Never bothers her even a teensy, eensy bit, someone more mature would probably like that.

Someone who wants no simpler life than to fully enjoy the experience of taking her kids to get their hair cut. Without being interrupted by Drew Barrymore who has nothing more profound to report on, than her flatbread being too bland.

Being unsure is better than hyperventilating

At least I get to be unsure out loud. Otherwise my thoughts just spin in unhelpful directions, with no anchor to ensure that I can handle it. Where's God? Processing everything, that can't be Him. It can't make sense that I'll be led into thinking "this could be the path", then right after it sinks in all the way, not even partially, another voice says "no it isn't".

Why do I have to walk them all, I ask.

I know the end result, and am quite sure I'm avoiding that path. Who am I to love children so much, then be forced to watch open-eyed as one is taken from me?

Still Saturday

Don't know why I don't want to leave the library. Probably the chaos at home. It's nobody's fault that my healthy, thriving family is being healthy and thriving in contrast. It's the part that gets me stuck. Like, so many years invested in lifting children up, to their highest, most secure, happiest child selves.

And what am I, an elitist? No room in my life for the discordant? That's what I mean about the perfect order to things, the getting used to life with shots, and accepting the many realms of possibility. Living in unique worlds is not only something I've mastered, it's probably the most important key. Or, it should be.

Moving forward without that light, that just stays there, and sets me free. Knowing that I get to carry on with that insight, the all day long distraction that always supports me. A wonderous world of delightful opportunities. And I'll pass that on to my young one, with prayers that it doesn't pass on before me.

Gotta look at both sides eventually, why not let it hit all the way home. Perfectly fits my philosophy.

Truth is...

All I really can concentrate on, what I need/want/pray for most. In my spare time, when not writing more dramas than a human can barely comprehend on this earth. Is lullabies.

I know it sounds ridiculous, that parents of bean sprouts need to imagine what it's like to have a precious newborn's life threatened...or to deal with what comes after as you chase for quality of life. But, it's in there.

Inside me, so don't take it if you don't particularly want to go there. But I'll be singing anyway, even though my voice sucks, just so someone precious can hear a rhythm that's familiar, and reliable, from its parent.

In between everything else, that will be important.

Finding the faith

You can't imagine the week I've had, most of it beginning yesterday. No, all of it began straight up yesterday...the good, the bad, and especially the evil.

First, I'd like to thank FX, not only for featuring my favorite man in fire uniform, but also a new favorite taxi cab driver. Why I hold out on myself, I'll never know. Puts everything in proper light, finally, at last.

The bad, well it's worse than I thought. Worse than I'd ever expected in my "boy, do doctors have poker faces when they lie" new phase. Oh, it's beginning, yes it sure is.

Am I grateful for the week spent oblivious? Am I surprised? About what I can't say, I can only write a dialogue for a play, no a sketch of some drama, okay?

Standards

Turns out schooling is 100% centered on taking care of diabetic children. Oh sure, there are only two students in the whole complex association of underpaid professionals, who have diabetes. Was that comma supposed to go there? Did it separate the good from the evil momentarily, so you could think straight? Dear reader, please know I mean you.

Eventually, it will seem true, and then you can thank the comma, dear reader. The comma will someday replace the exclamation point (which doesn't defend its own turf like it's supposed to). Imagine that for weirdness in realtime, the criminal-ized exclamation point, totally usurped by the comma, what will become of sentences now.

How I miss thinking out of unfair boxes for my reasons, the joy shall return, it will,...

Crap!!! The comma simply cannot exist without three dots to make it possible, those rules. I can't offend them, I can only respect what our nature defends and no wonder,

Yes, this would never work. Feel familiar? Couldn't possibly replace exclamation points with commas, nope never. Forever that will be true until it no longer pleases the king. Of England you ridiculous, hopelessly forgiven rule-breaking fools!

No cure yet, and you?

Spent all day yesterday in defiant conviction, could diabetes feel this? The cure was in there for most of my waking hours, limitations and boundaries all set, right? Stem cells would never, ever and insulin would get this. Never, ever right?

Even if the diabetic's heart was literally lifted from her own body and transferred against its own will to the cure's destination. Which I hadn't known was possible until conviction held, but couldn't win. That was a suicide scene at the end, as a result of being taken advantage of, cures have standards they must adhere to, or else.

Or else death. What could cures and death possibly have in common anyway...just free-associatin' here. Well, the cure would only produce logic and joy, and of course patience. For there would be many lined up for the cure, many lost souls among us, you know. The cure needs to have that worth. It does.

The cure needs to be lived or it will never happen, just how the integrity of energy and cures work. Hey, I don't want to take the medicine anymore than a diabetic wants to be sick. But alignment of principles into collective agreement of what's right, what's best...that's what I'm referring to.

Just imagining as I write all this, either hearing it from a higher power or just makin unnecessary shit up. I tend to do that, all part of my dishonest character right, it's realness, know me through and through, or don't. Cure.

Death, well, it's a choice AND a last resort. Not mine, obviously, too much to live for. Would never, ever put myself in a situation, consciously anyway, free will intact...where I'd have to give up to get. Or sacrifice for anything other than God's will for my life. Which is on the fast-track, lemme tell you (finally found a decent church).

Pray for the cure everyone who believes in miracles and stuff. Start now, maybe devote the next week to it, and I will too. It might work, the insight that's needed may fall from the sky. I gave technology MWF, perhaps out of decency I'll get seven days back.

God did it, why can't we. I mean I

Today it was Magic

Forced by a magician to attend a 1:30 program, totally against my will. Would rather be doing my laundry. You'd be surprised at the nice, comfortable pace laundry gets done at, with no internet or thriving DVR to distract you. Deep thinking galore, in addition to the imagining.

Can't decide which I like better, magicians bending my will so I head towards the library...or the laundry I already have done and won't have to do later. Being productive is amazing !!!

Nothing like it actually, gimme three straight months of being nothing but productive, and meanwhile re-integrating myself into society. Think I'll be queen? Of my own imagination, obviously. Which tends to know no bounds, sounds awfully familiar, don't you think?

In a way, it mirrors all my preconceived notions about destiny.

Certifiably Bonkers

Turns out, I know exactly the reason performers perform, only because I delved to its depths and realized I have it too. Madness, pure and simple, it's claimed me. No wonder like spirits attract like, and call it interesting instead of stalking, or worse. Whew !!!

I do love insanity but will have to thank heaven for this blessing inside of me...seems you can't mix the two. But you can sacrifice more on the altar of life, straighten that character, and have faith in Good News. I do. Put that in bold-print please, thank you.

Can you believe this will be my last blog post ever? Giving up the internet, developing proof. Not my best work, or even inspired, that's the worst news. This deadline of never posting again, kind of gives me the blues (aiming for as many diagnoses as I can muster). Y tu?

Won't bother me tomorrow though, that I can assure you. Moving forward at any and all costs, best thing in the world. Focusing on the family was divinely inspired for a reason, just like the gratitude beads I once made to honor You.

Back then, I was newly a mother and sure of that fact. Now, I'm just a faithful girl who listens always to her insides, follows her instincts to the ends of the earth, eyeing the crescents which are secretly circles. The dark's unmanifested light, the antithesis of lack. The undying unborn (so sue me, I stole that).

That is all, no lyrical fanfare, thu-thump, that's that. So trust me, someday when the echoes are loudest..., when being an anti-technology family restores our dignity back. Just stay-tuned, like the certifiably bonkers always will, always do.

And remember blog, you're the first non-physical entity I ever fell in love with, went insane for, and put my faith in. I hope that matters to you. Oh wait, the vibrational love songs emanating from my screen, resonate perfectly with my hardware.

That means I'm not certifiable bonkers afterall, just breathlessly consumed. Or I was. Back when digital media ruled my world, yes, back then. I lived it, and the reverie, so that makes it true.

Thinking sideways

May cure diabetes, may not, who am I to assume that. I wouldn't, I just go with the flow that is currently my life, knowing that my energy's pure if I'm focusing on what I currently value, which never seems to be fame, money, or even reputation. Wonder how God preserves me from that. I know, I know (raises diamond bedazzled hand)...

I was still a child when I made my decision, weighed it all out, yes chose it. I scanned the possibilities for my life, all the way up through the potential that superficiality breeds, and consciously unchose it. You see, I knew. You can't have both, can't sell your soul and then receive all the natural gifts that are bestowed upon common citizens.

Sad, but true or I wouldn't have wished it. Was a quick and reasonable insight, based all on facts. Or at least, what I had previously witnessed, no that couldn't have been it. At the time I wouldn't have known Steve Martin and Chevy Chase were cokeheads, or that I'd have the freedom to slander them in my blog because it's nothing more than an average citizen's OPINION. Wouldn't be true then.

I just thought it all through to the point that... That everything else glittery and glamoury would certainly interfere with the values of average citizens, simply not worth it. Can't even bridge friendship. Two different worlds, we and fame whores with no consciences. Just the opinion of a better-than-average citizen (legal, and upgraded status my own then). Got that? I mean it. Ahem.

Two-and-a-half barriers

I'm sure they're supposed to be there, they must be. Otherwise, why would I keep convincing myself over and over that the pretend dialogue I keep answering back to is actually happening. No, it would be a luxury if they were just voices in my head, thanks, I tried that.

They are two actual people who I'll remain sure until eternity that they are who I think they are, that the battles that keep presenting are worthy of fighting, but are they? I don't really know with 100% certainty which is actually how I prefer it.

Because maybe without it, everything would change then. Or perhaps, that last half barrier will do me in, and I'd regret that. Only half a barrier to deal with is confusing enough, so I guess I'll just keep all two-and-a-half in place and maintain sanity.

At least it adds variety, because oneness, well, nobody wants to mess with oneness except saints.

Getting it out there

I have one really, really close friend in my life, and yes you guessed it, it's my husband. Why am I telling you any of this, just to give an example I guess, of it not being complicated. He's the kind of friend I don't have to jump through hoops just to know, can lay everything all out on the table, be honest, be wrong, and towards solutions we go.

No strange metaphysical explanations for anything in our lives, no odd vibrational frequencies to lean towards just to get it right. Nothing standing in the way of a wholesome and lasting love for each other, and maybe it's time I defended that more. A person without their foundation, unable to share the other half of their thinking, their reasoning, might as well have no soul.



This weekend was my eleven year old's birthday, and yes, we had a blast. Two of the ways I was going to describe our time at the cabin were direct quotes, "phenomenal" and "the best yet", well I held back. I shouldn't have, because every time it was and that's just a fact. I'm only saying any of this because I keep finding myself on a ridiculously broken bridge, that doesn't seem to recognize my soul for what it is.

Maybe that's my fault, perhaps it's my mind creating drama where there is none. Was none, will be none...which was it, because I'm starting to forget.

Abandoning the ridiculous

What?!! I LOVE the ridiculous, with my whole entire character, but the same heart is patient. It has to be, or the ridiculousness will take over my brain, and my soul eventually, and then I'm nothing but a basket case with nothing on earth to ground me.

I need earth more than I need ridiculousness, believe me! Earth, it's what sustains me. It's my home planet, and the last time I took oxygen and tried to convert it into nitrogen...well, besides being impossible, I was just glad in the end to be able to breathe again.

Incessantly ridiculous writing only got worse, but it was a fair trade off. I'm not really going to abandon the ridiculous, but my reasoning is beyond unfairly ridiculous, it has only to do with flexible face muscles, nothing more. I know, pathetic.

I just...I can't die without knowing what it's like to interact with that mask, to see what parts are genuine, and which parts are there for entertainment. I need to know it all, to study it more closely. It's the only reason left that I don't abandon ridiculousness altogether.

I'm not expecting to touch the mask, only look straight into it and see if it answers back. It might, it might not. A risk I'm willing to take, but besides Earth, it's all that I care about these days. Breathing, and wanting to know that mask.

It wouldn't fit

"Putting my faith in a new place, and keeping a close eye on spirit. From now on." I don't know how many characters that would have been, my email loves to play pranks on me and teach me good lessons. That's what I get for taking time out to think.

I'm still keeping my word on that one, because it's post number six right now, and the farthest thing from my mind is baskets. If I trip when I'm weaving, or worse, slice my finger...it's either get back up again or put on a bandaid.

A professional crafter for the most part, most of the time, except when I'm not. I'll have to allow that, as part of my growth, it's where my spirit's at. The nausea, it will get better by the second trimester, it always does. It does every time.

I like my life's journey, being creative and feeling alive. It was the obstacles that kept getting me down, where there's a will there's a way is what I'm going to say. A new direction is birthed, this time all mine. My focus is strengthened, my purpose divine.

It was an accident

Diabetes isn't something that happens by accident, I wouldn't call it intentional, as if a weakness in your pancreas allows your immune system to intentionally attack it. God's design wouldn't see it that way, instead, most things that are unfair in life, the accidents where children are involved...designed to teach.

I would never personally take this for granted, as my experience has shown both frontwards and back, that diabetes was exactly what my family needed to strengthen its purpose. I actually remember the very thought that suggested humility may be needed, in my family, to balance it all. Perhaps it was intuition, a fear made manifest, but the order in which it happened, unmistakable.

Taylor's really been letting the tears out lately, and for that I am grateful. I can't imagine what it's like to have the whole freedom of your childhood captured and held hostage by needle pricks and life-or-death medicines. I often remind myself that it's better than cancer. Indulgent idea, as I'm just the parent, trying to make a daily struggle that affects my beautiful daughter's life, pretty unbearable.

It shouldn't boil down to perspective, or divine justice either. But how else are we taught, not to take our fellow humans for granted? Only thing worse than cancer, and I can't believe I'm saying this, is to lose your lads, or worse, your lass, in an unpredictable accident. Could probably invent new chords from that loss alone, wouldn't recommend it. Damn, that sounds insensitive, when did I become so callous?

Not sure. Wasn't in my nature a few months ago, back before the diabetes. Back then, I was whole.

Character Training

I have a birthmark on the left side of my neck, that is my greatest character strength. It's ugly and shocking, how ugly it is, and its greatest inconvenience is that I can never wear my hair up. This isn't one of those situations where I've never had the money or inclination to remove it, in fact I tried as a child, only permanent removal simply isn't its nature. Not that it couldn't be someday.

But, I've always felt that if I didn't have this birthmark, I don't think I'd be happy with who I turned out to be. It's spent its lifetime keeping me humble, reminding me that it's what's on the inside that counts. Would I have been so sensitive to never forget this had my birthmark not always reminded, nobody's perfect, especially not you? I don't think I would have.

My hair would've been worn up frequently, I'd have flaunted my dad's favorite compliment, "you have such a beautiful neck". He was talking past the birthmark, not trying to justify it, he really has always believed that I have a beautiful neck, slender he calls it.

I like having my birthmark. I like that my birthsister compares us both and calls me "more exotic", but misses the whole entire boat. I could care less what my face looks like, if I'm lucky to have my body after five kids (except for the inherited varicose), it's my birthmark that I've lived with my whole life that suits my character most.

I have a three inch long, ugly shameful mark on a precious part of my body, that most people never realize could hold back a single soul. Well, it's held me back my whole entire life, but in an important and essential way. I'd rather look exactly like my birthmark, than even depend on my cheekbones.

Being judged on the inside lasts forever, beauty is fleeting and sometimes distracting, well, you know how I roll.

Midnight Confessions

Didn't really want to write about diabetes today, but I'm going to force myself to tonight. Is there a difference between forcing myself and forcing my soul, it seems there is, maybe I see things unclear.

Myself knows the diabetes was a gift, or a symptom of an ailment much deeper. Myself can deal with whatever challenges the diabetes brings, my soul wants all the gifts that come later. Myself faces things in the moment, the stressful new vibe, the wondering why.

My soul wants peace, it wants deeper. I recall a few times in my life when my soul had the floor, but it's mostly myself that makes all the choices and changes, I wish my soul would stick around more. I tried to tell it to stay tonight, it was unsure.

I don't know what it will take to get my soul to align with myself. Probably just time and patience. It's forgiveness, I guess, that's the hardest. Forgiving myself for needing my soul.

3 month anniversary

I know right, I know. Why keep good track, it's never going away, diabetes bitch is bold. And yes, it's wearing its strain on my family. Nobody's nature is to argue, not here. All anyone does around here is just love. Got a problem with that? Too much info? Well, when you overcome bullies and reject-o-rammers, it's something you know.

Love ain't so bad, helps more in hardship. Fills people up, doesn't let them down. Love is a choice, an active good choice. That people don't learn 'til the curtain comes down.

Screw the cure

You know what, maybe we're just better off living with the diabetes afterall. It's easier to be a victim of medicine's need to support the Taliban so they'll have reason to keep training adrenaline-juiced doctors. If all the affairs in the hospital aren't enough to turn you off...ask the nurses, I worked at the coffee cart. I know just the plastic surgeon I speak of.

The freebies even in the cafeteria, the Sister Cities being great excuses for vacations, and the Greenway that nobody gives a shit about but the "healthy" and fake golfers. Have the stem cells, have the cure, I'll keep the needles and all the speckled plastic.

I like what Novolog has done for making Diabetes fashionable, who am I to complain when a free medicine purse in camoflage pink is more important than knowing a fuck about vitamins. What's B-12 have to do with Niacin, and cow's milk with too much chocolate syrup could NEVER cause Diabetes. Our studies show.

Or they don't show what they shouldn't show, you meant to say.

The mechanics of medicine

The world's probably made up of nothing more than men and women, and I hadn't even realized it. You know, pluses and minuses, this and that, these and those...basic structure. And, I don't often look beyond that black or white thinking, because it's reliable, serves me well, and all the rest of that gray matter.

Don't get me off topic, I was just getting on a roll there. I won't go all psychology on you, that's just inefficient, instead, I'll just say what I like. I like that men are different than women, in that they put duty before everything else. I mean, children are a duty, and for some I suppose, are pets. But men, somehow see the biggest picture of all, and that keeps them unfrazzled.

Girls are too busy worrying about what people are saying, thinking, and feeling to have the dignity or distance to think like men do. Men, if it weren't for them, women would be blown to smitherings by some idiot invested in all the wrong things, like women and men.

Got that? Well, I refuse to believe you.

27th post, bigger than the alphabet

Better make this one special, dont'cha think? Okay, nobody take any of this personally, it's only an analogy, but a good one. If it doesn't apply, it doesn't apply, so what hath thee to worry about, ee? Oh, there are my 'e's.

Only thing I hate more than dunk tanks at the local library party every summer. No wait. I LOVE dunk tanks at the local library party every summer. Sure, I'm behind on my thank you notes (never wrote 'em)...but, nothing I love more than promoting childhood reading.

So, worse than that, and this is perfectly cut throat. I hate socialites who are alcoholics, no seriously, the most. I don't drink for that specific reason, because if I ever had to admit to myself that I look forward to nothing more than a good lushfest, well, I'd be embarrassed.

It's bad enough to litter toxic venom all over our local restaurants, stumbling to and fro cars that one shouldn't actually be steering. Could kill someone quite frankly, perhaps one of my own children. And nothing's more unforgivable than that.

You see, I pay attention to these things, myself and not drinking. Because I don't, and you shouldn't either.

Enlightenment

Charm is deceitful
and beauty is
passing,
But a woman who
fears the LORD, she
shall be praised.
Proverbs 31:30

10 years or less, please

I wouldn't go so far to say that being demanding is against my nature. I'm old enough at 35 to know, that growing up just never seems to end. If that means I'm getting better at being honest, or just apologizing less for being sure, then what's the difference? You either love me or you hate me, or you love and hate yourself in equal measure. I'm no psychologist.

This stem-cell research is a blessing, this I know. And among my homeschool Christian friends, I cannot lie. The future of my child is in embryos, while your disdain for all your fears is "in the sky". I won't hold back my views, my friends, nor will I try.

We've ten years or less to get the cure, and that's the truth. My daughter's nerves will start to shred, or blunt, or curse. I haven't found the reason for this side-effect, nor do I plan to look, I'll just invest. In stem-cell cures.

Ten years is all we have until, the doctor says. Ten years until she's seventeen, and driving. Her feet will reach the pedals, she still can steer. But her feeling of it all will disappear. That's not called thriving.

A typical snack

Yes, pretzels and peanut butter and apples are our standby. We cut the peanut butter to one tablespoon (3g), and 9 pretzels should cover it. The apples are yummy, refreshing, and at 8 grams of carbs, they're practically free.



In between our snacks we fashion design.



Yes, on dry erase boards or laminated paper dolls.



Strange thing, it's been bricks and castle walls they've been drawing lately.



Could be their penchant for dress up, that eventually does us in.

Is this daylight I see?

Now that I've purged the last of my grief out, finished my cravings for everything chocolate and fat-filled, I'm done. The way I'm now seein' it, is it's much like being single and lovin' it, and then suddenly having a newborn.

Bye-bye old self, that you hadn't been warned would be leaving.

The difficulty's in adjusting to the now fact, that new life's 100% dependent on your involvement. So much for ever again being fanciful or free.

I recall the hurdle of becoming a parent. The uncounseled reality that life will never again be all about you. But five kids in, that state was a myth, or at least only temporal, in time things relax and at last you can breathe again.

We left her at the babysitter's tonight, unattended. Somehow timed perfectly, my husband dropped "a date" on me, we'd eaten (already covered the insulin), then out the door.

We checked in only twice for her numbers, she'd already tested herself, which at 127 was spectacular. We can do this, we've done it, let's do it again.

As I tucked my youngest in tonight (she's just two), I imagined the worst was over, and admitted it's true. For the first time in all of my history of parenting, I realized that more terrible things could happen to each of my children, and that's when I knew.

Instead of blocking it out like my fantasy land usually allows me to do. I just sat with the knowledge that no matter what life decides for any of us, we most certainly WILL get through.

Highlights

Numbers and a prayer

I wasn't exaggerating, the kid needs to eat EVERY TWO HOURS. Luckily for overdosed insulin, we're cutting back to 15g per unit, instead of our usual ten. I suppose it's to be expected during these first few typical weeks, just when numbers were hitting 100, mix it all up once again.

I don't trust a damned twisted increment of it, though. How can you drop a whole five, and not just a mere three. "She wants to keep it simple," both my husband and doctor professed. As if dividing by 13 were impossible, back to the spikes and the drops this wife says.

My findings

Many valuable message boards exist to serve the affected-by-diabetes crowd. Greetings most often consist of an initiatory "I'm sorry you're here in the first place," then "we've been in your shoes," followed by "our vast knowledge will help you."

Which is comforting once you get beyond that initial insult (if they're disappointed, does that mean I should be too?)

I tried that for part of today, separating the curse from the gift, and wallowing in the former. Not a huge fan, and I'm over it. Looking back at my past week-and-a-half, I was glad to have reason to leap out of bed, to test for that blood sugar, and approach breakfast with balance in my head.

Fruits with every serving, even for this mother is something new, eventually we'll graduate to vegetables. The challenging excitement of narrowing down 15g carbohydrate snacks.

Here's my list of 5 FAVES:

Fiber One yogurt (lime and strawberry)
19g carbs but 5 grams of fiber
(= 16.5g total snackilicious flavor, + 4g protein)

DanActive yogurt drinks (blueberry, strawberry, vanilla...yum!)
14g carb + 3g protein

OLD DUTCH cheesy puffcorn
(2.5 cups = 15g carb, 2g protein)

HERSHEY'S 100 calorie pretzel bars
(Um, pretzel grids dipped in chocolate)
14g = two "cookies", 4.5g fat

and best but not least (it's my 7yo's favorite)
NABISCO 100 calorie packs,
OREO SnackCakes (15g packet)

All day yesterday we did ten, and her numbers were phenomenal.

Watching my daughter adjust is not just inspiring, it's reassuring. What life was before, always and forever shall be. We're simply more creative now, our chef hats yearning a place on our heads.

Oh no

I'm becoming the sort of person who doesn't like to leave her home. Simply no refrigerators small enough to carry! How annoying, didn't expect this handicapping inconvenience to overcome me. Though tomorrow's another day and I won't have to leave for a dumb doctor's appointment.

She wasn't actually a doctor though, she was a nurse. And she wasn't really that dumb, in fact she was brilliant. Yup, we immediately hit it off, has a daughter diagnosed at ten. It's amazing the people you meet with this job, she totally wants me to start and lead a support group!

Now, how I'm going to manage all those exta playdates...?

Adjusting well, thank you

Thank god for my rational husband! Getting all kissy and lovey-dovey on me as if life's just plain normal. And it is, I'm remembering, we've been through this before (we homeschool). Life's just a journey, some parts more challenging, but our love's still alive, we're simply eating better now.

...to be continued, off to celebrate a birthday!

No, seriously

I'm dealing with it. Like Sarah noticed, we're one week in and already developing a sense of repentance. Oh, haven't you heard? Diabetics never reach acceptance, at least that's my conclusion after all the blog titles I'm seeing.

Yes that's right, life was "free" before diagnosis, happened at "six" some others remember. Go ahead, take a peek in my pantry (it's right there on my sidebar)...either the community's lacking support and strong guidance. Or I'm just left of the curve, time can't empower me anymore.

Oh, I'm not a fool. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner still are my guidelines. But as for the "when I was well" as opposed to heading for drama. Not to belittle, blood vessels take trauma. And don't make me bring up heart attack risk here, I will when I'm ready.

Coin word people, c'mon I know what we're thinking. It's not just a cure we're looking for, no, demanding. We'll keep the nutritious diet, hell yes we'll promote it, just let us be diabetic-free.

Before and after

This weekend I conquered "the bridge", that silly little divider standing between pre-diagnosis and post. It was all an illusion anyway, pretending that life prior had been taken for granted, when really, it was spent in deep celebration of all we had.

I mean have. It relieved me of my judgements, those I planned on placing upon you, the ones that had probably been placed upon me, by those with destinies unaccepted. I embrace all of my life.

Sure, it's mildly inconvenient to care so much about health now. Where will I be heading, armed with carb-hatred, ahem, insulin reluctance. Oh pancreas, gland denying us your hormones, and yet you feign some balance, interconnectedness with the whole?

It's not that I don't believe you, sitting there all comfy and tucked in. Just that I'd always thought you knew antibodies from normal. I still forgive you for giving in.

Emotions

Besides my positive mental attitude, which I've strived hard to attain, I am devastated and my heart's broken in two. I ward it off most of the time, it's not just the shots, new habits, and numeratic uncertainty...it's the plain unfairness that it happened to Taylor, not you.

I've broken a dish or two, I'll admit it. Nobody was hurt, my wrath quickly forgiven, but nothing about this seems fair, that thought's allowed. A teeny-tiny window of possibility, a research study that may bring a cure...6 weeks to three months post-diagnosis.

Anyone, anyone...God? You hearing my repetitive prayer?

Oh well, we'll get through, we always do. But just so you know, I've felt pain as a mother before, and with losses of good friends. There are worse situations for parents to deal with, I know, it's true.

But in those quieter moments when my thoughts catch up, the house is finally settled, my duties done. Teardrops do fall, just a brief moment of grief, for every lost drop of her blood.

Frank Lessons

So, this past week has been spent learning everything I didn't know about diabetes. Trivial things, that mainly moms would care about, but lessons nonetheless.

• When you have a newly-diagnosed child with diabetes, you won't sit down for an entire week straight. Don't expect this schedule to lighten, ever.*
• Be glad you worked so hard to make all your women friends, you'll need each and every one of them.
• Sugar-free candy does not necessarily mean carb-free. Oops.
• The shots hurt when the needle goes in, but not when it comes out.
• Expect to fall in love with list making, it's your new hobby.
• You'll quickly discover every one of your children has been ingesting way too much sugar.

* When you realize diabetes is turning you into the mom you should've been all along, be grateful.

It's the shots that suck the most

Obviously. In between measuring out all those snacks, and scheduling our day better, and studying all the interesting things homeschoolers should encourage themselves to know more about anyway. Including vomiting.

No, not getting into the ol' ketoids here, have yet to do my research. But, an eating disorder I heard exists and gets transfered from camp to camp...it's called diarexia. The nutritionist told me.

The kids, I guess, they lose weight by raising their blood sugar. Those rebel high schoolers, and our body conscious medias...it's time we gave this more attention, don't you agree?